


Into Your Hands

by helens78



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Denial, Facials, Hand Fetish, Hand Job, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-12
Updated: 2010-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:37:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been locked up in this prison with Leoben for weeks, but he's running out of denial--and Leoben is very, very good with his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> For my Kink Bingo card -- the "hand fetish" square. If you've never noticed Leoben's hands, might I suggest the opening credits sequence from S1, and the episode "Flesh and Bone" in particular. :) With thanks to [Travis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuuketsukirui) for the beta!

Sam's up before first light. He was never like this before--not before the Cylon attack, not back on Caprica when they were constantly on the run. Getting out of bed has always been a struggle.

Here it's not. Here, once he wakes up, he rolls out of bed and showers, pulls on his clothes and gets the frak out of the bedroom. It doesn't matter if the sun won't be up for hours; he's not staying in that Gods-damned bed any longer than he has to.

It's all part and parcel of the same thing: the circumstances here are set up to unnerve him, make him anxious, keep him off-guard and off-balance. Leoben's been good at that ever since he brought Sam here, between the talking and the three square meals a day and the comfortable bed and the heat--Gods, the heat. It's been more than a year since they founded New Caprica, and Sam thought he was used to the cold. But every morning he wakes up and spends a few seconds grateful for the heat, glad to be able to feel his fingers and toes.

And then Leoben rolls over, and Sam can't get out of bed fast enough. Like this morning, with Leoben sliding close and wrapping an arm around Sam's waist. Sam was in the shower almost before Leoben would've noticed he was missing, and thank Gods Leoben doesn't follow him anymore; he just goes back to sleep now, and Sam gets a few minutes, a half-hour, an hour or two on his own.

Sam's starting to make out dim streaks of purple in the distant sky, and he's wondering how long he can stand here at the window before Leoben crawls out of bed. Leoben's not a morning person--frak. Leoben's not a person at all, let alone a morning person. Sam's been forgetting that lately. He's trying to chalk that up to his constant lack of sleep.

He doesn't have a watch--Leoben took away his watch the first day Sam was here, and there are no clocks in this cushy excuse for a cell. Leoben's never lied to him about where he is, what the limits are. Sam's in an upper apartment in the New Caprica Detention Center, and he doesn't get to go any further than the hallway outside the front door. There are bars at the end of the hall, and though they're not guarded, he's never seen them unlocked. He wonders if there are other apartments here, if other people are getting treated to this kind of singular, determined mind-frak.

Leoben first came to Sam's tent looking for Kara. Sam wonders if somewhere in here there's another Leoben playing house with her, too. Maybe they change places once in a while. Maybe they trade information. Maybe they're tapped into a network and can read each other's thoughts.

Sam closes his eyes and leans against the window. He's not going to think about it. The Leoben who's here with him has never mentioned Kara, not once, and whenever Sam's asked about her, Leoben's gone quiet and changed the subject.

He's up against the window for a while before there are noises. They start in the bedroom: a faint squeak of bedsprings, a soft yawn. Then he hears footsteps padding down the hall and out through the living room. Leoben walks past Sam without a word, but on his way by, he reaches out and squeezes Sam's left shoulder. Leoben's not going to let Sam ignore him today.

Sam can still feel that touch after Leoben's moved along into the kitchen. Leoben's hands are long and graceful, his fingers slender but strong. Sam focuses on the sounds Leoben's making to get his mind off the way Leoben's hands felt on him, the memory of how they look.

He knows what Leoben's doing now--the first thing Leoben does every morning is make coffee. _Almost every morning_, says the voice in the back of Sam's head. _Almost._ He bangs his head softly against the window, just once, to try and get that voice to shut the frak up. Leoben pauses in what he's doing, but only for a moment, and then he's back to the coffee. Sam hears water running; he hears water being poured from the coffeepot into the machine. The cabinets open, and he hears the soft clatter of beans going into the grinder, the loud heavy rasp of the grinder working.

Sam's resistance breaks as the sound from the grinder picks up speed. He looks over and watches Leoben's hands--one holds the grinder's base, the other turns the crank. Smooth motions, nothing wasted. Leoben still looks half-asleep, but his hands are working just fine.

_Like those mornings he doesn't make the coffee first thing._ There's that voice again; Sam wishes he could frakking strangle it.

If Leoben's noticed that Sam's watching him, he hasn't acknowledged it. He finishes grinding his coffee beans and pours the grounds into the filter, and as soon as the filter's in place and the machine starts going, Leoben leans both hands against the counter and tilts his head back and sighs.

There's an irony to this. It takes a human machine to get a Cylon working. Sam tries to think of that and not the line of Leoben's throat as his head's tipped back. He's not doing a very good job.

A few minutes later, the first cup's done, and Leoben pours it into a mug for himself. He slips the pot back under the drip before much more than a drop or two can spill, and he reaches back into the cabinet for sugar. Sam knows this part of the routine, too--a spoonful of rough granulated sugar, stirred in carefully, almost meticulously, so every last granule dissolves. Tiny, precise motions as Leoben moves the spoon in circles, and then finally it's done, and he sets the spoon on the counter and drinks deeply.

"God, that's better," Leoben murmurs. He looks over at Sam. "Good morning."

"Maybe for you."

Leoben sighs. "I know. I understand. I do. Can I pour you a cup of coffee?"

Sam shakes his head. He doesn't need to be even more jumpy around Leoben. He also doesn't need Leoben having this particular carrot to hold over his head, getting Sam addicted to caffeine and then being able to supply it or withhold it at will. Caffeine's maybe the least of his worries, but he's not going to go there. Not for coffee. It's not worth it.

Leoben comes over to the window with Sam, still drinking his coffee. Sam sighs and walks away, heading to the couch to take a seat. Leoben finishes his coffee over at the window, then takes the mug to the kitchen and leaves it in the sink.

He walks over to the living room and sits down next to Sam, and Sam tries not to notice him. It's not easy. Leoben's hair is mussed from sleep--just sleep, last night--and he's still wearing the thin t-shirt and boxers he sleeps in.

When he reaches out for Sam, it's not a shock, and Sam doesn't jerk away. He stays still while Leoben strokes his fingers through Sam's hair, trails his fingertips down the side of Sam's face. Sam lets out a slow, shuddered breath and twists his hands together, staying as still as Leoben lets him.

Leoben cups Sam's face in one hand and angles Sam's head toward him. "I had a vision of you this morning."

Sam knows about Leoben's visions. Sam would've called them dreams, maybe even nightmares; this 'vision' business is a load of Cylon religious bullshit. But Sam's been there to witness what some of the dreams do to him--in Leoben's greatest moments of vulnerability, he's thought about holding Leoben down and snapping his neck. The only thing that's stopping him is Kara: if they kill Sam for taking out one of the Leobens, who's going to be left to fight for her?

Leoben's still staring at Sam, as if he's waiting for Sam to say something, so Sam nods. "What was I doing?"

"Not about what you've done. About what you'll do."

Sam forces himself to take even, steady breaths, and not jerk away from Leoben's touch. "Okay," he says softly. Calmly. He's the picture of calm. "What am I going to do?"

Leoben leans forward and presses his lips to Sam's. Sam holds his breath--it's that or back away, and if he backs away now, he's not going to hear the rest of it. He needs any intel he can get, even if it's crazy talk, even if it means putting up with Leoben's hands on him.

But after Leoben's been kissing him a while, Sam starts breathing again, body responding to being touched. He groans when Leoben licks across his lips, and he shivers when Leoben traces light paths with his fingertips over the side of Sam's neck.

When Leoben pulls back, he's smiling. "It starts with that," he says. He stands up again and holds out his hand to Sam. "There's more."

Sam hesitates. The vision's probably bullshit. Leoben's probably just using it to get Sam's attention. It's been working so far, but he could blow this off, end it here.

But as Sam stares down at Leoben's hand, at the graceful, slender lengths of his fingers, he feels a rolling dark twist in his gut--guilt laced with need laced with revulsion, all tangled up with that urgency and desire he's been feeling since he came here--and he reaches out. He takes Leoben's hand, and Leoben pulls him gently to his feet.

"Come on."

Back in the bedroom, Leoben starts with his own clothes. He takes his shirt off, slips out of his boxers, and there he is, naked in the sight of all the Gods and one Samuel T. Anders.

It means Sam can't pretend he doesn't know where Leoben's going with this anymore. He looks Leoben over, head to foot, and meets Leoben's eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. Leoben doesn't smile, thank Gods; he just walks over to Sam and starts unbuttoning Sam's shirt.

Sam jerks back and shakes his head. "No, don't."

"I'm sorry--"

"Frak," Sam whispers, closing his eyes. "Don't frakking apologize. Just--give me a minute here. Let me do this on my own."

When he can get his eyes open again, he stares down at the floor, which means he sees his shirt as it flutters to the ground, his pants once he's unzipped his fly and shoved them down his hips, his briefs when he's gotten out of those, too. And then Leoben's not the only one naked in the sight of the Gods, and Leoben comes forward again, putting his hands on Sam's chest.

He touches Sam like he's just getting to know him, like this is the first time he's had his hands on Sam's bare skin. It makes Sam shudder all over again, because that's bullshit; he doesn't remember how many times Leoben's had him (_eighteen_, that voice in the back of his head chimes in, _eighteen, and the one time he had you while you were sleeping_), but this sure as frak isn't the first.

Except it could be, if this is a different Leoben, and Sam would never know. It could be a dozen different Leobens, it could be four or five of them trading him back and forth. It could be two, one for Kara and one for Sam, and maybe they compare and contrast, maybe they--

He stops thinking--finally, thank Gods--when Leoben slides one hand down Sam's stomach and wraps his fingers gently around Sam's cock. Sam grunts out loud as his body surges forward; his brain's got nothing to do with that movement, it's just a matter of his cock wanting more, which is no big shock, not really. Gods, Leoben's hands--the things he knows how to do with those hands--Sam shudders as Leoben starts stroking him, and he forces himself to look away instead of staring down at Leoben's hand on his cock. "Your vision didn't get us to the bed?"

Leoben doesn't answer. He moves his other hand down to Sam's balls, fondling them, and Sam has to reach out for Leoben or he'll stumble. He has to look at Leoben or he'll miss. As soon as his hands land on Leoben's shoulders, Leoben smiles, and he sinks down, kneeling in front of Sam, both hands still working and getting faster all the time.

It's a shock to the system seeing Leoben on his knees like that. Sam's tempted to bury both hands in Leoben's hair and yank him forward, but is that part of Leoben's vision? Is any of this?

Leoben's not even trying to get his mouth wet, though, no licking his lips, let alone parting them. He's just smiling faintly and touching Sam, one hand jerking him off at a pace just shy of fast enough, the other--the other...

Sam moves his legs apart, and Leoben slides a finger back behind Sam's balls. He presses in slightly, uses a knuckle to rub against that sensitive little patch of skin, and if he even notices that Sam's starting to hold on really frakking tight, that Sam's probably going to leave bruises on his shoulders, it doesn't change his rhythm or his movements.

He slides two fingertips back further, back to--Sam closes his eyes when those fingertips press gently against his asshole, and he starts breathing harder, having to work to take in air now.

Leoben takes his hand away as soon as Sam gets to that point, and when Sam opens his eyes again, he sees Leoben sucking on his own fingers. Sam grunts and grabs Leoben's other hand--the one still on Sam's cock--by the wrist, stilling its motion. Leoben doesn't fight that; he just goes on sucking his fingers, sliding them in and out of his mouth, finally licking them up and down. They glisten when he's finished, and whatever permission Leoben's looking for when he meets Sam's eyes, apparently he gets it, because he puts his hand between Sam's legs again and puts those two slick fingers up against Sam's hole.

This time he isn't gentle. He pushes in hard, and the pressure burns. Sam gasps, clutches at Leoben's shoulder, tightens his hand on Leoben's wrist, but Leoben isn't stopping. He moves his fingers back and forth, just a tiny rocking motion, but it's enough to get them in further and further, opening Sam up, forcing his way inside. Sam lets Leoben's wrist go and lets Leoben start stroking his cock again, but now Leoben's taking it slow--bright hot pain in Sam's ass, easy strokes on his cock. It's going to frakking kill him.

"Leoben--"

Leoben looks up at him, eyes dark. "Tell me what you want."

Sam almost laughs--when the hell did this become about what Sam wants?--but he can't. Not now. "Don't frak with me."

"I'm not." Leoben twists his fingers deep inside Sam, and Sam groans, leaning down hard against Leoben's shoulders. "Sam. Tell me." He licks his lips, still staring right up at Sam's face. "Please."

Another one of those rough twists; Sam can't stop moaning. He feels that curl of shame again, but laid down deep against the core of his need he can't even tell the difference between shame and want. "Just--don't frakking stop," Sam begs, fingernails digging into Leoben's skin. "Don't stop. Just don't--"

Leoben doesn't. He keeps going, keeps twisting his fingers, keeps jerking Sam's cock, and Sam can't stop, either--he digs his teeth into his lower lip to stop himself from saying another frakking word, and he comes, streaking Leoben's face with it as Leoben closes his eyes and smiles like Sam's given him the best gift in the Colonies.

By the time Sam's done, he's winded, and Leoben's filthy, and he stumbles backward, trying to get away. Leoben draws his hands free fast--too damned fast, pain spiking up all over again--and catches Sam by the arms.

"Hey," he murmurs. "I'm here. Look at me. Right here with you. I'm here."

_Look at him_, and Gods, there's that voice again, the one that just won't frakking let up. But Sam looks anyway, looks at Leoben's face with concern and desire and certainty painted all over it along with Sam's come. _You did that. That's you on his skin._

"Frak you," Sam pants, but he's grabbing Leoben and pulling him forward all the same, and when he kisses Leoben, he can taste himself and all the things he's been hiding from, all the secrets he's been keeping.

"I saw this," Leoben whispers, reaching up and cupping Sam's head in his hands. "I saw me this way, marked like this. I saw what it would mean if we walked this path together."

Sam keeps his grip on Leoben's arms. He doesn't open his eyes. "I saw it, too," he whispers, and _frak it_, that is _not him_, that's the gods-damned voice. "I always saw it coming."

He can feel Leoben smiling against him, and he scratches gently at the back of Sam's neck. "So come on, then," he murmurs, guiding Sam back to the bed. "Come with me."

Leoben leads, and Sam follows, and Sam wonders if, weeks from now, months if he lives that long, he'll think this is where it all ended or where it all began.

_-end-_


End file.
